


The Redacted Files of Dr. Delphine Cormier

by yeahitshowed



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 21:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahitshowed/pseuds/yeahitshowed
Summary: "'You are not a licensed therapist,' Rachel notes.'No, I am not,' Delphine agrees. Rachel looks at her, waiting for an explanation. Delphine writes ‘interrogatory’ on her notepad."Westmorland sends Delphine to find out if Rachel's really changed for good. Set early-s5.





	The Redacted Files of Dr. Delphine Cormier

In preparation for their first session, three cameras are discreetly installed around the room. Rachel walks in, isolates all three — ceiling, wall, plant — and walks out again. 

This is a matter of trust, Delphine overhears Rachel telling Westmorland. How can I continue my recovery with any confidence when you saddle me with such supervision? 

The cameras are swiftly removed. Westmorland never cared about them much in the first place, anyway. It was Delphine who pushed for them, and Delphine who is left in a windowless room with Rachel when they’re gone.

“Doctor Cormier,” Rachel smiles when the door swings shut. “Shall we begin?” 

Rachel sits first. Delphine fiddles with her notepad, writing the date and numbering her pages. (Her pen doubles as a voice recorder — she had to assume the cameras might be taken out.) Pleasantries are exchanged. Rachel compliments her hair. As the seconds tick by, Delphine runs out of reasons to delay starting, and sinks into her seat. 

“You are not a licensed therapist,” Rachel notes.

“No, I am not,” Delphine agrees. Rachel looks at her, waiting for an explanation. Delphine writes ‘interrogatory’ on her notepad.

“So why are we meeting twice a week?” Rachel asks.

“There are no therapists on the island, for one. I am more familiar with the dangers presented to clone psychology and physiology than the other doctors currently available. And Mr. Westmorland trusts me.” 

Rachel nods slowly. “Alright. What would you like to discuss?”

There are therapists on the island. Delphine knows that. Rachel should know that. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, thank you.” 

“No violent urges or fantasies?”

Rachel smiles delicately. “Of course not.”

“This is not an unreasonable question, considering your history.” _Our history_ , Delphine thinks. 

“I respect your caution, Doctor Cormier,” Rachel says. “It’s something I’ve always admired about you. But my time with Mister Westmorland has shown me the light, if I may be cliché. The person you once knew is a thing of the past.”

“Rachel,” Delphine starts, and then pauses, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The cameras have been uninstalled. You may check, if you like. We are alone. It would be in your best interest to be honest with me.” 

“I am being honest.” Rachel looks at her, a little sad, a little smug. “Even if you don’t believe me.”

“Fine,” Delphine says. On her notepad: ‘confrontational.’ “You haven’t been having any violent fantasies.” 

“That is correct.” 

“How do you spend your time, day to day?”

“I meditate,” Rachel says earnestly. It sounds ridiculous coming out of her mouth, and Delphine searches for the hint of disgust, the crack in this sheepskin she can use to force out the wolf, but there’s nothing. 

“Nothing else?” Delphine pushes.

“I eat and sleep, certainly,” Rachel laughs. “Apart from that, meditation comprises most of my day. I talk to the residents, when I can.” 

“And you enjoy talking to them?”

Rachel’s gaze drops. “Some of them are wary of me. I don’t blame them. But it can be hurtful.” 

“Mhm.” Delphine checks her watch. “What do you consider to be your place here?”

“In Revival, you mean?” 

“Yes.” 

“My place is wherever Mister Westmorland sees fit,” Rachel says, adjusting the soft sleeve of her dress. Delphine can’t suppress a small, derisive noise; Rachel looks at her, inquisitive. “Something wrong?”

“No. That is a tactical answer.” 

“Tactical,” Rachel repeats, chewing on the consonants. “As in, untrue.”

“What do you consider to be your place currently, then?”

“Before we continue.” Rachel leans forward. “Am I right in assuming that regardless of what I say in here, you will report to Mister Westmorland that I am psychologically unwell?” 

Now it is Delphine that smiles oh-so-delicately. “Of course not.”

“You are angry with me,” Rachel observes. “I understand. But there is little point in lying. After all, for our next session, I could request to have the cameras reinstalled, and what grounds would your anger have then?”

Rachel speaks gently. There is no threat in her words — just explanation. She’s calm, and she’s right. Delphine’s pen hovers over her notepad. 

“I would like to believe that you have changed,” Delphine says, pen still poised. “I have believed that before. I have also seen how adept of a liar you can be.”

“Perhaps your biases make you unfit for this position,” Rachel suggests in that gentle tone. 

“That is not for you to decide.”

“I understand your anger,” Rachel repeats. “But I do not wish to waste either of our time on an exercise in revenge. Do you?” 

She does, though. She wants to sit here and peel back Rachel’s camouflage until there isn’t a scrap of it left. “Proving that you are a changed woman is hardly a waste of time,” Delphine says. “Let’s stay on track, please.”

Rachel straightens her spine. “Yes, let’s. Where were we?”

“Your place,” Delphine reminds her. It’s as good a starting point as any. 

Rachel gives good, believable answers to Delphine’s questions. Delphine is sure that if she were to study Rachel’s mannerisms more closely, she could eke out the steel from the softness, but she mostly keeps her eyes lowered. This tamed Rachel is hard to look at.

“Is there anything in particular that you would like to discuss?” Delphine asks after her eleventh or twelfth question melts like butter under Rachel’s newfound warmth. “Anything that’s been concerning you?”

“I think you’ve just about covered me,” Rachel says. “What about you? How are you adjusting to Revival?”

“I’m not sure talking about myself is really—”

“How is Cosima?”

That name in Rachel’s mouth is a wakeup call. Delphine shakes off the veneer of comfort she’d allowed to form. “We are not discussing Cosima,” she says firmly. 

Rachel tilts her head. “Are you two not on speaking terms?”

“If you are looking to guarantee a negative report to Mister Westmorland, this is the fastest way to do so,” Delphine blurts. She presses two fingers to her wrist — her heart rate’s climbing. _Careful,_ she tells herself. 

“I only wanted to know if she is healthy,” Rachel says, bemused. “I apologize for prying into your personal life.” 

“The current outlook is positive.” Delphine takes a few deep breaths. “She is improving, thankfully.”

“I’m glad,” Rachel says. “If we have nothing more to talk about, shall we call it a day?”

“Not quite yet.” Delphine leafs through her notepad, her heartbeat still too fast. “I would like to keep you a bit longer.” 

“I thought we had exhausted everything you wished to explore,” Rachel says. “I know our scheduled time isn’t over, but if possible, I would appreciate being let go. The children don’t enjoy waiting.” 

“The children?” 

“Yes. In the school here. Some of them are your patients, I believe.” Rachel smiles fondly. “I am leading a meditation circle with one of the classes. Mister Westmorland felt it would be a productive activity for me.”

“This was his suggestion?” Delphine asks tentatively.

“No, it was mine. I do enjoy spending time with children. Their wonder at the world is so refreshing.” 

“I don’t think I can allow this,” Delphine says, shaking her head slightly. “Not yet. Not until I am sure of your stability.” 

Rachel’s eyebrows twitch up. “Doctor Cormier, I have not been institutionalized. You cannot place restrictions —”

“I know of your complex with motherhood,” Delphine says sharply. “I have both seen and heard secondhand of your fascination with Sarah Manning and her daughter. I do not trust you around children without further examination.”

Rachel is very still. The smile she’s held for most of their session wilts; what’s left is a blank slate of an expression. After what feels like an eternity of silence, Delphine tries to speak, and is quickly cut off. 

“This could have been so easy,” Rachel says softly. “In a week or so I wager our relationship could have been quite symbiotic. Like we were before. You remember, Delphine.” 

“What are you talking about? What could have been easy?” 

“Here is what’s going to happen.” Rachel’s expression is less neutral than it was before. “You are going to report to Mister Westmorland that my mind is perfectly sound. In fact, you will say that you are so content with my current state that you no longer feel I require any kind of therapy.”

“And why would I do that?” Delphine asks, clicking the little ‘record’ button on her pen. 

“Because if you don’t, your time on this island might be cut short.” Rachel rests her hand on her cane. “And, subsequently, your time with Cosima.” 

“You are threatening me.”

“Yes, Delphine, I am.” 

That’s all she needs. Delphine stands, gathering her things. “I cannot say I am surprised that your new personality is a fabrication.” 

“I can assure you, my personality is as genuine as yours.” 

“I believe we are done here,” Delphine says, and starts for the door. 

“What happened to Shay Davydov?” 

Delphine’s blood runs cold. She turns; Rachel is still sitting, watching her.

“Shay Davydov,” Rachel repeats. “Cosima’s ex-girlfriend. You spoke with her. You gave her Cosima’s tag number. You made amends, as it were, before your unfortunate incident with Martin Duko.” Her eyes rake over Delphine’s abdomen. “So why hasn’t she contacted Cosima?”

“This is not relevant,” Delphine says, throat dry. 

“Isn’t it?” Rachel stands, leaning on her cane. “If I were a former military officer handed an inscrutable clue by my fling’s unstable ex-girlfriend, I wouldn’t leave it alone. I would dig. I would hunt.”

“She didn’t care about Cosima,” Delphine says raggedly. She hears that woman’s voice in the back of her head: _you’ve gone all ‘single white female’ on her._ Imbecile. Bitch. “She used her, manipulated her.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” Rachel approaches her. “What happened to her, Delphine?”

Delphine swallows. Hands shaking, she breaks her pen in half. “You already know,” she whispers. “How?” 

“Because I am better at covering my tracks,” Rachel hisses, right in Delphine’s face. She smells like too-sweet flowers. 

In the end, the pages of Delphine’s notes are left crumpled in a wastebasket. Rachel’s gentle masquerade lives to fight another day. Then again, so does Delphine’s — a victory not to be discounted.


End file.
